


New Year, Wasteland Style

by JauntyHako



Category: Fallout (Video Games)
Genre: Danse is the type of person to spend a party in the kitchen making fast friends with the family dog, Drinking Games, Good thing they have the SS to balance them out, Hancock is the type to dance topless on the table, M/M, New Years party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-10 18:46:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5596777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JauntyHako/pseuds/JauntyHako
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Sole Survivor hosts a New Year's party, Danse hides on the roof and Haylen may or may not have a slight crush on Deacon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	New Year, Wasteland Style

**Author's Note:**

> So. This is turning into a tradition, writing a fic at midnight on New Years. Which means that either I'm a very dedicated writer or I need to get out more. Probably both. Although I'd probably hide on the roof like Danse.

“Happy New Years.” Hancock whispered in his ear, making Danse shudder. He didn't expect any of them to find him this quick. Below the party had just started, Andrew blooming in his role as the host. His laughter was audible even up on the roof. By all means Hancock should have been down there as well, not one to miss out on a chance to party.

“It's not midnight yet.” Danse said softly but smiled as Hancock sat next to him, holding two glasses of mystery drink.

“I know, but I plan on getting so well and truly smashed that I wake up on the second of January at the earliest. Care to join me?”

He held out one of the glasses, the aroma of alcohol so strong it made Danse's eyes water even at a distance.

“I … suppose I could have one drink.” he said and took the offered beverage. The fluid looked distinctly thick and, although it was hard to tell in the evening gloom, rather black. He chanced a look at Hancock who looked at him with the expression of a child gifting their parent with a cake they made in the sandbox. Taking a deep breath, half fearing he wouldn't take another, Danse took a careful sip. Sweet liquor filled his mouth, pleasantly burning on his tongue and throat when he swallowed. Something fruity and heavy stayed behind, prompting Danse to take another sip to chase that peculiar taste.

“That's my boy.” Hancock said pleased and went back to his own drink, leaning back in the patio chair. During the day a guard manned one of these chairs, the position giving a perfect view of Sanctuary and the Old North bridge. Andrew had worked for weeks setting up a more intelligent turret system that would allow them to vacate every guard post for a while in favour of getting as drunk as humanly, or non-humanly, possible. In the middle distance the hazy light of the truck stop gave a clue that the settlers there also celebrated the beginning of a new year and on the horizon where the shimmering lights of Diamond City and Goodneighbor, bright spots in the otherwise dark city. Andrew said in his time the city's lights were so bright you couldn't see the stars at night, not divulging whether he thought that to be a good thing.

Someone below cranked up the radio, carrying the music, an upbeat tune Danse didn't recognise, up to them. Hancock hummed and tapped his foot along to the beat.

“Don't you want to go down and … dance or, or socialise?” Danse asked, feeling a pang of guilt for keeping Hancock from having fun.

“Can't dance. And I am socialising right now.”

“No, I mean …”

“I know what you mean. I like it up here with you, don't worry about it.”

Danse smiled and looked at his hands, still holding the sweet drink. Out of Hancock's mouth it sounded as if it was really enjoyable sitting in the cold night air, while downstairs people were having fun.

“I don't want to keep you here. I'd go down myself, but …” he broke off. No feeling sorry for himself. Not tonight. He wouldn't ruin his boyfriend's mood.

“But?” Hancock needled. Danse shook his head.

“Nothing. Forget about it.”

“Oh, not gonna happen, pal. Spit it out.” Hancock acted like a predator on the prowl when there was something he thought people kept from him. He leaned forward, the lights from downstairs illuminating half of his face and casting the other in darkness. Lately Danse had more and more trouble seeing him as one of the ghouls the Brotherhood despised and hunted. 'Cute' wasn't a frequent guest in Danse's vocabulary but it fit for Hancock. Not now, though. Now he looked as if he smelled blood. Andrew would have let him be, believed in letting people take their own time with things. Hancock was not so considerate and so Danse had no other choice but to either make up something on the spot or tell the truth. Employing his less than stellar deception skills would be insulting to the man who was much better at them anyway.

“Most of the people down there have good reason to feel … uncomfortable in my presence. I don't want to ruin anyone's celebrations.”

In the dark he thought he saw Hancock raise an eyebrow.

“You do know X6 has come, too, right? And there's like five escaped synths down there that he had to promise not to recall. I don't think you'll be much of a disruption.”

Danse had seen the courser arrive earlier this evening, imploring Andrew to rethink his order of 'have fun and don't hurt anybody' to no avail. Last he knew he'd been glowering at everyone from a corner.

“No need to add insult to injury.” Danse said.

“Don't give me that. You don't even know most of these people. Who knows maybe you'll make a few new friends. God knows you could use them.”

The words should have stung but didn't. It was Hancock's declared mission to set up Danse with as many friends as he could. He got on well enough with Fahrenheit and Vadim, the bartender out of Diamond City, always let him have one on the house, but neither of them were there today. Most of the guests were Minutemen and a group of people Danse had the creeping suspicion might be Railroad agents. He couldn't prove his suspicions and, considering no fight had broken out yet, neither could X6-88.

Eventually though Danse gave in. He realised Hancock would stay with him through the evening, either up on the roof or down with people Andrew had taken individual oaths from not to attack anyone else. No matter what Hancock said about enjoying his company, he wouldn't make him spend New Years in the cold, away from the party with only an introverted grouch for company. Besides he wanted to get more of that mystery drink.

 

Below the party had just started to get lively. Some people danced in the area they'd cleared of furniture, another group was involved in a card game, while others did something that looked suspiciously like a drinking contest. Danse sent Hancock off to enjoy himself and after promising to do the same was left to his own devices. Figuring his best chances at getting more of whatever it was Hancock had given him lay with the group of drinkers, he approached them, recognising Ronnie Shaw among them. She didn't seem to like him much but on occasion they shared training routines and stories about green recruits getting themselves into trouble. With her was one of Andrew's friends, MacCready, and a man Danse didn't recognise but, for some reason, felt he should.

“Hey, look who's here. Long time no see.” said the last person in the round. Danse's face lit up.

“Scribe Haylen. I didn't realise you were coming as well.”

She shrugged and urged the others to make space on the couch for him to sit, supplying him with a drink. Sadly it was simple whiskey and not the stuff Danse was originally after.

“I'm not really supposed to be here. If Elder Maxson knew I was here, I'd be looking forward to sleep my hangover off in the brig. Andrew invited Rhys as well, but you know him. He did offer to cover for me though and sends his regards. But enough of that. You're looking better since the last time I saw you.”

Considering that the last time they'd met he'd just been banished from the Brotherhood, escaping only barely with his life, he wasn't surprised.

“I am better. Andrew has been keeping me busy with training the new Minutemen recruits.”

“Training? Is that what you call it?” Ronnie threw in to general laughter. Danse lifted his glass to acknowledge her words but didn't rise to the bait. He wasn't sure how much friendly banter from his side would still be perceived as not hostile.

“Great, now that we've gotten the small talk over with, can we go back to drinking?” the man Danse didn't know said. He looked irritatingly familiar but he couldn't put his finger on it. His suggestion however was sensible enough for Danse not to care overly much about his identity.

“Okay, here's the rules. You tell us two statements. About whatever, yourself, something crazy that totally happened, something completely unrelated to you, whatever. One of them has to be true, the other has to be a lie. Everyone else tries to guess which one is the true one. Everyone who has guessed wrong takes a shot. If everyone guessed right, you take a shot. Simple enough, right? It was my turn when you showed up, so here I go.” The stranger tapped the table with his fingers as he deliberated.

“Okay, first one: Deathclaw omelette is considered a delicacy among the distinguished connoisseur.

Second one: I am currently wearing frilly underpants with lace bows.”

Danse blushed, Ronnie snorted and Haylen was caught staring at the guy's crotch.

“I call bullshit on the panties.” Ronnie said and was supported by MacCready.

“I don't know. Call it wishful thinking but I'm saying the Deathclaw omelette story is false.” Haylen said, eyes glassy from the alcohol or perhaps the mental image of this man in frilly panties.   
“Agreed.” Danse said and added hastily: “Not that there is any wishful thinking on my part. It just seems unlikely someone would try making omelette from an egg of a creature this dangerous. It seems decadent.”

Four pairs of eyes rested on the fifth one who raised his glass and said: “Well, sorry to disappoint, but Deathclaw omelette is a thing. It's served in Diamond City's upper stands and if you don't believe me you can ask Andrew.”

Haylen cursed and took her shot, followed by Danse.

“My turn.” she said, setting the glass down. “One: The Brotherhood had to make a rule expressively forbidding people to do barrel rolls with a vertibird because so many people did. Two: On a research patrol I once met a Mr Gutsy model who tried to enforce a curfew on me and whom I was able to outwit by repeating the last thing he said to me which was 'Repeat: Will you comply?'”

“That's unfair. Mr Tin Can here will know if the Brotherhood rule is right or not.” MacCready objected.

“Not necessarily.” Danse said. “I am not familiar with flight regulations seeing as I never did fly the vertibirds myself. However I do know the soldiers of the Brotherhood and I am convinced they would never do something so childish that would potentially compromise vital equipment. I say the first story is made up.”  
“Geez, boy, we need to get you drunk faster, if you can still say flight regulations without a stutter. But yeah, what he said. Bullshit on the barrel rolls.”

The stranger also agreed to Danse's assessment while MacCready expressed doubt over the malfunctioning robot. Haylen whooped and pointed at him.

“Ha! The vertibird rule is made up. Take your drink, pretty boy.”  
Danse raised his eyebrow. Evidently Haylen had been playing for a while already if she started using inappropriate nicknames. MacCready grinned and drank and turned his attention to Danse.

“Your turn. Try to go easy on the polysyl- the long words.” His speech slurred lightly and Danse chose to go easy on them. Not too easy, though.

“Fair enough. My first statement: In the Capital Wasteland there is a settlement populated and maintained entirely by children. They are the descendants of a school class visiting the mines on the day the bombs fell. My second statement: The bodily fluids of a ghoul are laced so strongly with radiation they can cause visible burns on contact.”

Danse realised too late he may have said something compromising. When he mentioned ghoul bodily fluids Haylen shot him a look that was entirely too cunning for her level of inebriation. But before she could say anything, MacCready laughed out loud.

“Ha! I know that one. That place is real, so your second story is bu- made up.”

“Well you sound confident. I'm with MacCready on this one.” Haylen said, looking at Danse that told him she'd filed away that glimpse of potential information away for later but letting it rest for now.

“Yeah, no way.” Ronnie said. “Most adults couldn't get their shit together if they tried. No way kids can organise a settlement.”

“I don't know, Ronnie. I've met ghouls and through circumstances I will not relate I happen to know what happens when you come in contact with their fluids. They tingled a bit but didn't burn. I say that kid-run place is real, as wacky as it sounds.” said the stranger but before Danse could reveal the truth of his statements Hancock came along with his usual swagger.

“What's this I hear? You talking about me?”

“You're not the only ghoul in the Commonwealth, mayor.” Ronnie said, sharp but not unfriendly.   
“Best looking though.”

Ronnie argued that but more for the sake of arguing than anything else. Danse had seen only a few ghouls close enough to judge their attractiveness and Hancock usually won out. He realised he might be biased, though from the stories Hancock occasionally told he wasn't the only one thinking that way.

“Well, don't just stand there, sit and play a round or two with us.” Haylen offered. To his surprise Hancock's usual cocky grin was chased away by a more coy version of the same.

“Actually wanted to borrow Danse for a bit.”

“Off to make out behind the house like teenagers, are you?” Ronnie said. Danse couldn't help but be embarassed. News of his entanglement with Hancock and Andrew had gotten out fast but he still wasn't used to the way it tended to come up in conversation. Considering that this was a polyamorous relationship involving at least one non-human – not everyone knew yet about Danse's true origins – it felt bizarre that people would be this casual about it.

“Nah. We have a bedroom for that. If you're interested in details though-”  
“She's not. Let's go.” Danse interrupted and got up under laughter and Haylen staring after him gobsmacked. _She_ hadn't known about his updated relationship status. It'd probably mean a long talking to come morning a fate made worse by the fact that he couldn't even pull rank on her anymore to make her let it go.

As if the gossip surrounding them wasn't enough already Hancock did lead him straight to the bedroom, even winking at Cait when they passed her in the hallway. He was just about to ask what all this meant when they entered the bedroom and found Andrew waiting. That itself wouldn't have been enough to make Danse stop dead in his tracks. What did it was the small pillow Andrew held. On top of it lay three golden rings. His chest tightened, his eyes focused on the rings gleaming in the artificial light.   
“Why- How …” Danse cleared his throat and started again. “How come there are three?”

He was dimly aware of Hancock drawing him further into the room until they stood in a close circle, close enough to touch, the rings between them.

“Melted the old ones down, alloyed them with some platinum.” Andrew explained. “It's not … I mean it's not like a wedding or anything. It's just been a few months but I figured it'd be a shame to just let them gather dust somewhere. It's not like this super commitment or anything, like you don't have to promise anything but-”  
“What he means”, Hancock said patiently. “is this: We work well together, the sex is fantastic, you're about the greatest pillow in the world and since neither one of us has an artistic bone in their body friendship bracelets were just out of the question.”

Danse laughed, low and gravelly, his voice reflecting how deep this offer affected him. He took the smallest ring and pushed it on Hancock's finger. The ghoul repeated the same with Andrew and Andrew finally slipped the ring on Danse's finger. Then they stood quietly for a long while, embracing each other and enjoying each other's warmth. The ring felt strange on Danse who'd never worn jewellry but he thought it was a feeling he could get used to. Eventually they parted slightly, enough for Danse to see Andrew grinning.

“Now that the sappy stuff is over with, I believe there's at least one of you who is in need of dancing lessons. Ready to live it up a little?”

Hancock chuckled and yelped when Andrew pulled them both along back into the living room and onto the dance floor.

“Brother, you know I have many talents. Dancin' ain't one of them.”

“I agree with Hancock. Maybe our time would best be spent-”  
“None of that. You're learning how to dance and if it kills me.” Andrew said. He turned up the radio and shimmied towards his boyfriends who shared a mutual distress.

“Come on, darlings. Just move your body to the rhythm, let go, have fun.”  
Ordered like that Danse couldn't say no. And so they danced the night away, some graceful, some less so but all with their eyes to tomorrow, as bright as gleaming gold.

 

 


End file.
